Love Lost
by Mere
Summary: Valenti introspection; Future fic


Isabel looks beautiful in black. She looks beautiful in   
everything, of course, but mourning suits her surprisingly   
well. I'm used to seeing my wife in bright colors.   
  
But today we buried my father, and his daughter-in-law wore   
black. It was a dismal ceremony, drizzling ugly February, and  
the only color against the brown grass and wet stone was  
her golden hair.  
  
I clutched her hand the entire time. My father is dead, and that  
terrifies me. My father is dead and I never really knew  
him.   
  
I visited the old sherriff a little in his senility. I took  
Isabel to the nursing home after we got married, when it   
still felt strange and wonderful to call her my wife. I   
brought her to see Dad and he told me I was too young and   
foolish to get married.  
  
After living on this godforsaken planet for more than forty   
years, after a marriage and a bitter divorce and a son who was  
already grown, after running this whole damn town for   
years, I was still nothing but a dumb kid to him. Some days I  
hated the old bastard. Today, I was just scared.  
  
For him, awaiting judgement; and for me, making the same   
mistakes.  
  
If it was my funeral, would Kyle stand numbly in the rain and not  
cry? Would he be thinking about his job? His girlfriend?  
His brand-new shoes getting muddy?   
  
I should have been better with Kyle. It was hard, after Sarah  
left, to look at what we had made together. It hurt like hell -  
but that's no excuse.  
  
I'll do better this time. Nicky isn't mine, not technically, but  
when he calls me 'Daddy' I don't correct him. I'll smile   
at him a lot and tell him what a good kid he is and read all   
of those parent handbooks that Isabel has stacked neatly on a  
shelf somewhere.  
  
I don't know if she ever even looked at the books. Somehow, Iz  
was born knowing what's best for her son.  
  
Hatched, I mean. She was engineered to know what's beneficial to  
her offspring. That's what the alien symbols said, and   
that's what she tells me whenever I get too admiring.   
  
I smile at her and pretend that she's right, that where she comes  
  
from matters.  
  
I can hear faint voices from down the hall. Isabel's reading a   
story, her voice a little tired and not quite as animated as   
usual. I grin to myself, proud that I can tell that from so   
far away. People think she's cold. They couldn't be   
farther  
  
from the truth. She's reserved around strangers,   
true, but inside of her love is the warmest place a man could   
be.  
  
I can't imagine ever giving her up.  
  
Michael did it. He left her, as much as they both deny that   
there was ever anything romantic between them. I know when   
she looks at Nicky with that familiar pain in her eyes how   
much she loved - loves - his father.  
  
Michael disappeared a year after Nick was born. Isabel's sure   
he's still alive; she would have felt it if he was killed.   
He's off fulfilling his destiny, she tells me. It says so in the   
Book.  
  
Every morning that I wake up alone I think that she's gone.   
She's just making breakfast, of course, or finishing up some   
paperwork; but the panicked feeling returns the next day.   
Maybe I'm just too old to learn to really trust her, too   
cynical to ever really believe she'll stay.  
  
Isabel comes back into our bedroom, yawning. Even half-asleep,  
she lights up the room. I can't help smiling at  
her, and she grins in return and sits down next to me on   
the bed. "What's so funny?"  
  
  
"Nothing." I trace the line of her jaw. "You're beautiful."  
  
She laughs at me, shaking her head. "Such a sweet talker."  
  
Leaning over and kissing her is easy. Years of practice haven't   
made it any less thrilling to touch her, only smoothed the   
process, made it slower and sweeter. She pulls away after a   
minute, looking at me with concern on her face.  
  
"Are you all right? I know today was hard."  
  
I don't meet her eyes. My mouth opens to reassure her, but I   
can't make the words come out. I can't lie to her.  
  
Silently, Isabel wraps her arms around me and rests her head   
against my chest. "I'm not going anywhere, Jim."   
  
I want to say "I know," but instead I just stroke her hair,   
closing my eyes and inhaling the scent of her.   
  
I can't lie to her. I can't let go of her. I can't hold on   
forever.  
  
When she leaves me, Kyle will have to make the funeral   
arrangements.  
  



End file.
